The Saishon-Chi of Grume Roshambo and Serom Bloodbeast (Part One)
The Inciter's Bloodshed Today was the first day of Brakkas Zanzulu's eclipse. Mistily crimson did it hang in the cold morning air casting an eerie pink over the Islands of the Oni. It had only been before the sun for an hour or so but looking out the window, Grume 'Choki' Roshambo could already see some weak minded in the street, a low lust for blood beginning to boil in their veins. Grume was not like those poor Oni in the streets, slaves to their savagery and feeble in moral standing. The large oni was old but still regarded by those blessed to age as long as he as a powerfully willful hero to his people, even if many around as long as he were passing on. Most youth and even many adults were finding new younger inciters that they aspired to. Every year, more and more attributing the idea of strength to today's up and coming blood rhymers. One of these young stars was exploding in popularity at this time, his performances creating brawls in most places he went to the delight of officials. An inciter that can stir violence without Brakkas Zanzulu eclipsing is worth his weight in discipline steel and oni weigh a lot. "Serom Bloodbeast is turning taverns upside down and we count over sixty two casualties from brawls spawned under his cadence." The adviser bowed forward deeply, his military medals swaying like a a hundred small chains. All the while he kept his spine straight and eyes locked to his focus as most oni do as such prideful beings. When time came to rise, he erected as quickly as possible, matching the posture of his fellow four advisers. "That is a record for someone so new to our ears. I trust you have signed him for Saishon-chi?" The shadowed figure in the throne was faced away from them, this new shadow king while a mystery, had firm grasp over the kingdom. "Twelve days ago your Might." Another advisor spoke, this one decorated with silver and gold leafed flourishes. These sturdy steel decorations that while ornate looked able to take a sword blow in combat. "All is prepared." 'Serom Bloodbeast' was a name that Grume had heard before, mentioned as one of many clone harbinger of the new styles of inciting, albeit a very prominent one. Standing from his bed, he held the pamphlet in his huge red hands, dropping it to take his spine in palm before cracking from neck to tailbone profusely. He felt his wounds, physical evidence of his memories. Every one was a story and a battle. Every one was a death narrowly avoided. His fingers deftly traced the most prominent ones, risen lines square in his midsection. ||||'' ||||'' |||| They mirrored the same at his back showing the entry and exit points of opponents blades. Grume reminded him that while he wasn't as young as he once was, it wasn't luck that had got him to this age and that holding the root traditions of inciting is what kept him victorious for so long. That said, young threats like this were never to be dismissed as nothing. Taking ceremonial robes over his shoulders, began preparing himself for the big day both mentally and physically. He grabbed up his hailer, the ornate horn that helped inciters focus their bolstering powers and project voice to the masses. looking at his wall, many inciters would keep trophies of their victories, the blades of fallen adversaries displayed in the dozens by any largely successful performer, Grume however had only two. They belonged to his two closest, fellow inciters that passed over the years but kept him honed and sharp during their decades together. Lastly, his mask, a gold visage that was a twisted and enhanced version of his own features. He left his humble adobe, mask a rose gold in the ominous light of the crimson moon. The Blood Shed was one of the largest buildings outside of the palaces over the entire Oni Islands, housing an entire army, all stands faced the central stage for every trooper to be inspired. Saishon-chi was no new territory for Grume. The Oni Kingdom had gone to war with The Disciplines at least twenty times before, during and after the War of Fragmenterra throughout Grume's lifetime. He walked up to the stage and stared out at the masses surrounding him. It never failed to impress him, no matter how many times he viewed the crowd, the sheer body count of the entire oni army swelled his heart almost as much as he hoped to swell theirs with his display of prowess. Just as his nationalistic soul was drinking in its fill of the passion in the stadium, his opponent began ascending to the stage. Serom Bloodbeast was everything many young oni aspired to be. Largely built, overly proud of self and craving praise above all things, he was a fierce sight. His outfit represented this deeply. Rather than boasting the traditional robes each battler would discard at the beginning of the fight, Serom arrived bare chested signaling the readiness to fight anyone and with his mask firmly affixed. This mas was iconic and Serom's trademark prop. A cast iron torture mask, it was wrapped around his head and bolted in place with his hailer affixed over his mouth, forcing every tone uttered to be loud and boasting. Draped from his wrists were shackles, snapped chains hanging from them bragging of untrue strength. Grume could see around five blades strapped to his back, his keen eyes noting some of the names of inciters Serom had defeated and killed etched on the hilts. Milk PLNET, vvvPentacion and 6ix2wo, Grume mulled on these self titled young oni who rather than earn names from the public decided their own titles. Serom snapped Grume back to the present, "You've lived too long old oni. Your frail body won't make a worthy enough kill to rile up the audience." The voice sounded confident to the everyday ear but Grume could heard the very subtle childish uncertainty underlying. Grume remained silent, not taking to the bait held before him. This competition revolved around not snapping under the opposing inciter's taunts and riling. Long enough in the presence of an accomplished inciter channeling the blood moon's influence is enough to make any oni charge with weapon drawn but doing so this early would be the action of a child. "I see you hold the blades of Guu and Paa. Do you miss them Choki? Do you cry at night?" 'Choki', 'Guu' and 'Paa' were the titles that Grume and his two closest Inciters held, an unstoppable triumvirate that turned many tides of war with their inspiration for violence. Grume let his robe slide off his shoulders to the floor. While this was tradition to bare chest in acceptance of the challenge, Grume could not truthfully say that that he did it in his own timing, rather eager to fight at the taunts of his opposition. Noticing the slight aggression in Grume's action, Serom began his assault.